Distractions
by RandomCheeses
Summary: Series of Dragon Age drabbles
1. Distraction

Disclaimer: I do not own.

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><p>Jenna Hawke leaned back against a convenient wall in the courtyard behind Kirkwall Chantry. As she observed the scene in front of her, she began to mentally curse her self-control, the Maker, hormones in general, and infuriatingly handsome blue-eyed princes in particular.<p>

But most of all she cursed the fact that, having agreed to meet said prince at a particular time, she'd decided that since it was an especially hot day, there was no harm in arriving a little early and taking advantage of the excellent shade available in the Chantry courtyard.

This sensible decision had backfired. Horribly.

When Hawke arrived at the Chantry, she'd run into Grand Cleric Elthina, who had helpfully informed her that she would find Sebastian in the rear courtyard, finishing his morning archery practice.

Which was why Hawke was now leaning against the courtyard wall, waiting for Sebastian to finish practice and trying like hell not to gawk like a lovesick teenager at the very sweaty, very out-of-breath man in the ridiculously thin cotton shirt that was clinging to his torso in a very distracting fashion.

_I am an adult, _she reminded herself. _I am self-assured, I am mature, I am- Oh good, looks like he's finishing up. We can go soon. . . Ooh! He's taking off his shirt! Don't stare, don't stare! Andraste's flaming ass, don't stare!_

Not staring, however, proved to be more of challenge than Hawke expected. Sebastian, having finished his practice, slung the shirt over his shoulder and made his way towards the small fountain in the opposite corner of the courtyard, where he proceeded to dump handfuls of cold water over his head.

_Oh sweet merciful Maker!_ Hawke groaned inwardly as she watched the water trickle down his face and neck and then drip from his well-defined chest. _He's trying to kill me, _she thought in despair, shutting her eyes. _This is some kind of cosmic punishment. No one who's chaste should be allowed to look that good. It just isn't fair-_

"Hawke?" Sebastian's voice interrupted her thoughts. Hawke's eyes flew open to find the prince standing in front of her, still half naked and dripping, a concerned look on his face. "You're looking pale. Are you ill?"

"Mm fine," Hawke mumbled, staring at the ground and wishing it would open and swallow her up. "Really."

Sebastian frowned and rested a hand against her forehead. "You seem a little hot, Hawke. Come sit down," he insisted, steering her towards a convenient ledge by the fountain. "You don't feel faint, perhaps? Did you forget to eat breakfast again?"

"Am fine," she mumbled again, trying desperately not to stare at his chest. "Honest. You should go get a clean shirt. We don't want to be late."

He blinked, as if only just noticing the fact that he was half-naked. "Oh. Right. Just give me a minute. I'll be right with you." And with that he walked back across the courtyard and disappeared into the Chantry.

Once she was sure Sebastian was out of earshot, Hawke let out a heartfelt curse. "If you're listening, Maker," she added, "I really, really hate you right now!"

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	2. This Is Not Paradise

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><p>Sebastian had never seen the ocean up close before. In all the years he'd been in Kirkwall, he'd only ever caught a glimpse of it from the Chantry tower, from which it had seemed an unimpressive blue speck. Occasional trips and errands outside the Chantry for the Grand Cleric had all been inland, the Wounded Coast far in the other direction.<p>

To date, the most imposing body of water he'd been familiar with was the steady flow of the Minanter river which wound its way past the city of Starkhaven on its way to the Waking Sea.

Assisting Hawke in her search for slavers on the Wounded Coast was therefore proving to be an education.

"Would you look at that!" he said enthusiastically to Fenris as they stood near the edge of a small cliff, waiting for Hawke to finish liberating the slaver corpses of their more impressive and undeserved items. "I've never seen so much water in my life!"

"Well, you wouldn't have," a grumpy voice behind them muttered. "Seeing as how you're so full of hot air."

Sebastian ignored the sour comment and its originator, focusing instead on the vast plain of blue. Anders had been in a bad mood all morning, exacerbated, he suspected, by the presence of Fenris, who had spent the whole trip watching Anders suspiciously. Not to mention the fact that the mage's attempts to flirt with Hawke had once again gone over her cheerfully oblivious head.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments before Fenris announced: "it's official. I have travelled all the way from the Northern Coast to the Southern."

Anders grunted sourly and Sebastian cast a glance towards Hawke. He suspected that her skill as a referee would soon be needed for the umpteenth Anders-Fenris Insult and Sarcasm Competition.

However, she was still otherwise engaged, busily digging through the possessions of the slaver leader. Sebastian winced and looked aside. He'd once attempted to discuss her fondness for looting, gently suggesting that such an unsavoury habit was beneath a lady of her character.

Hawke had looked him straight in the eye and said 'waste not, want not', successfully implying in just four words that someone who had grown up in a palace and then benefited from plain but filling Chantry meals for the last ten years, had no business telling someone who had lost her home to darkspawn and spent a year in indentured servitude just to get into Lowtown not to indulge in a little light scavenging.

He hadn't the nerve to bring up the subject again, so he moved closer to the edge, crouching down to get a better look at the curious shapes moving back and forth under the water.

It was then that a shout behind him caught his attention. He turned on his heels, saw Hawke victoriously holding up a valuable looking amulet-

-and slipped.

The last thing he saw before he hit the water was Fenris' horrified expression, the elf's outstretched hands missing him by an inch.

The coldness of the water was a shock, as was the surprising heaviness of his armour and mail shirt. Weights that he'd carried easily for year suddenly seemed ten times as heavy as he struggled to swim, to breath.

His lungs protested, burning in pain. Spots floated across his vision. Everything began to go dark.

***

Awareness returned slowly. He was soaking wet, but the overwhelming force of the water was gone. Gritty feeling sand coated the back of his body instead and he could feel someone's hand against his face.

There was gentle pressure against his open lips. Warm air was being blown straight into his mouth.

It quickly came into conflict with the air from his lungs, which was rather insistent on heading in the opposite direction, and Sebastian began to choke. His eyes opened, looking for the source of the warm air. They found Hawke kneeling over him, her face millimetres from his, one hand squeezing his nose, the other holding his jaw, her eyes wide with surprise and relief and her lips-

-still pressed against his own.

Prince and warrior both froze. Then Hawke jerked back, letting go of his face. Dazedly, Sebastian noted that someone had stripped off his armour and lined jacket, leaving him bare to the waist.

_Darkness . . . Hawke . . .beach. . . lack of clothes . . ._

His slowly recovering brain provided him with the simplest explanation. He'd drowned. This was paradise and obviously certain rules had been repealed. Hawke was still kneeling conveniently next to him, and since he'd never been one to overlook an opportunity, Sebastian sat up, cupped her chin firmly in both hands, leaned forward, and kissed her the way he'd wanted to kiss her ever since he'd realised that what he felt for her was more than friendship.

Hawke went stiff for a moment, but then a soft sound escaped her mouth and she relaxed, melting against him.

A half-growl/half-roar of pure fury from behind brought both of them back to reality and they separated.

A horrible certainty began to steal over Sebastian. "Oh," he said slowly. "I'm- not dead."

"No-o," Hawke replied unsteadily, staring at him as if he'd grown two heads.

Sebastian turned his head to avoid her shocked gaze and caught the eyes of the other two members of their party. He immediately wished he hadn't.

Fenris was also dripping wet and looked extremely discomfited. Anders appeared to be attempting to put a hole through Sebastian's head through force of glare alone. As he glanced back at Hawke's stunned expression and the realization of what he'd just done started to hit him, Sebastian couldn't help wondering if that would be such a bad thing.

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	3. AU: Pirate Seb

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><p>Captain Sebastian sipped at his drink, promptly spat it out in disgust, and then sighed mournfully. <em>Why <em>had he decided to dock in Kirkwall again? A whole city full of Templars, mages, not to mention the Qunari. The whole place was far too tense. _Not to mention, _he thought sourly, _it's a little too close to Starkhaven for comfort. . ._

But there hadn't really _been _a choice, he mused. Not with that maker-forsaken storm bearing down on him. Not if he wanted to keep his ship.

No, for the moment at least, he was in Kirkwall for the foreseeable future. Ship repairs had to be taken care of, unless he wanted to sink the second he set sail, and those things took time.

The noise of the Hanged Man's door squeaking on its hinges caught his attention, and he looked up just in time to see a woman dressed in light scouting armour stepping into the tavern.

Sebastian whistled softly as he took in the dark-hair, the crystal blue eyes and the lady's slim but appropriately muscular form. _Target sighted, _he decided, and got up from the table he was currently sharing with his some of his crew, quickly moving towards the bar so that he could engage with her as she ordered a drink.

"May I introduce myself, dear lady?" he asked, taking her hand and favouring her with his most roguish grin as she paid Corff for a tankard of ale.

The dark-haired woman snatched back her hand. "Since you've already interrupted me and invaded my personal space, you might as well," she said sharply.

He bowed. "Captain Sebastian of the _Lady's Favour_, at your service."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Sebastian? So you're the one they call the Gentleman of the Eastern Seas?"

Sebastian's grin widened. "Ah, you've heard of me!"

The woman's lips thinned to a flat line and she narrowed her eyes sceptically, making him wonder exactly what she'd heard about him. "Oh yes. Odd title, I thought."

He shrugged. "Well, I did consider calling myself King of the Eastern Seas once. But that would mean I'd have to marry the Queen. And she's not my type. Besides," he shrugged again and tried to keep the hint of old bitterness out of his voice, "being royalty isn't all that it's cracked up to be."

The woman took a sip of drink, grimaced, and promptly downed the rest of it in one go. "Ugh," she coughed. "That is _foul._"

"Dreadful," Sebastian agreed, edging closer to her. "Quite unsuitable for a lady such as yourself. You know, I would consider it a privilege to introduce you to some of the fine vintages I own myself."

"Oh really?" the dark-haired woman said. She glanced down at her empty tankard and a tempted look appeared on her face.

"Absolutely," he purred in her ear, bringing a hand around to settle on her hip. "I keep them upstairs in my rooms. Care to join me?"

The woman stepped back out of his grasp and Sebastian smiled smugly. The insulted look was expected. As was the hiss of indrawn breath, the growl of "you sodding arrogant pig!" and, most importantly, the vaguely intrigued-despite-herself up-and-down glance.

The fist to his face which knocked him backwards over a table was not.

###

Cap'n?" said a blur, which resolved itself into his First Mate Rob a few minutes later. "Are you all right, Cap'n?"

Sebastian didn't answer. He was too busy watching the sway of the lady's hips as she stalked out of the Hanged Man in disgust. "Maker's Breath," he whistled from his place on the floor. "What a woman!"

"Cap'n?" the first mate asked again, taking in the stunned smile on Sebastian's face and beginning to wonder if the blow had addled his boss' wits.

The Gentleman of the Eastern Seas got to his feet. "Rob," he said to his second-in-command, "I'm sure I saw the lovely and ever-accommodating Captain Isabela around earlier. Go and find her for me, would you?"

Rob blinked. "Er, you sure that's wise, Cap'n?" he said carefully. "She did try to stab you last time you talked to her. An' she also said she'd cut off your balls if you came within five feet of her."

Sebastian waved a hand carelessly. "Details," he said dismissively. "Isabela always knows who's who in a port less than five minutes after she docks. And I'm sure she's forgiven me for. . . ah. . .what was it?"

"Tryin' to steal her ship," Rob supplied.

"Yes, that."

"An cheatin' her out of that deal in Gwaren."

"And that."

"An' runnin' off with her lover."

"Oh. Yes. That too. Whatever happened to him, I wonder?"

"He went assassinatin' people in Ferelden."

"Oh?"

"Didn't work out as planned," Rob added placidly.

"Dead, is he?"

"No, just assassinatin' other people now. People says he's the Hero of Ferelden's pers'nal Crow."

Sebastian's expression brightened as he recalled a particularly valued memory. "Oh yes. Dear Elissa. I wonder how she's doing these days?"

"Queen of Ferelden," Rob answered as he helped his Cap'n stagger over to the bar.

"Good for her!" Sebastian said cheerfully. "Now, as I was saying, Isabela's got to be around here somewhere and she'll know what I want to know."

"Cap'n?"

"I want to know who _that _was."

Rob didn't bother trying to argue. The Cap'n had _that _gleam in his eyes again. Well. One of his eyes. The other was beginning to swell shut.

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	4. Reflections

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><p>Sebastian shifted uneasily from foot to foot, listening with half an ear as Hawke argued with the proprietor of the Black Emporium. He never liked coming to the gloomy half-underground shop, a fact only exacerbated by the fact that the owner was an ancient possible-maleficar. Of course, the old man was probably near harmless by virtue of the fact that his extreme age made it all but impossible for him to even rise from his chair.<p>

That still didn't make Sebastian feel any better.

He glanced around the dusty dimly-lit room, hoping to distract himself, both from his increasingly dark thoughts and from Hawke's ever more vocal argument with Xenon, when his eye was caught by a mirror tucked in the corner. The surface of the mirror glinted and shimmered, half-formed dark shapes flickering under the glass and before he realised it, Sebastian was standing in the mirror's corner, peering curiously into the shimmering glass.

The shimmering slowly faded and a solid image started to appear in the clearing glass. Sebastian stared at it, his mouth going slack in shock. His reflection stood in the mirror, dressed in princely attire, exuding confidence and the golden crown of Starkhaven atop its head. It was perhaps ten years older than he was now, with laugh-lines, a few wrinkles around its eyes and mouth and a weary but satisfied smile on its lips.

Sebastian blinked and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. When he look back, the reflection flickered and changed. Now he saw himself dressed in simple chantry robes, a plain bronze symbol of Andraste around the reflection's neck. This second reflection did not look half so careworn as the first, but the more gentle smile that _it_ wore seemed empty somehow, and did not reach the reflection's tired, sad eyes.

"Sebastian?"

He nearly jumped a foot in the air, Hawke's sudden presence at his back jerking him out of his dazed state.

"Sebastian?" she said again, looking at him with concern. "Are you all right?"

"I- yes," he stammered. "The mirror, it surprised me."

Hawke tilted her head and peered past him at the mirror. "Looks normal enough to me."

He looked back to the mirror and saw only a reflection of himself as he was now: bright white armour, mail tunic, and his Grandfather's bow slung across his back.

"Oh," he said quietly "So it does."

"Anyway," Hawke said cheerfully, "I finally managed to argue that tight-fisted old miser down to a sovereign and sixty-five silver, so we're done here. Let's get back to Lowtown. I need to meet Varric in the Hanged Man."

"Lead on, then," he said with a faint smile, and followed her out of the gloom.

Behind them, seated in his high chair, Xenon muttered to himself. "Two. . . people at the. . . _crossroads. . ._of their destinies," he mumbled disjointedly. "I hatedestiny. . . it's always so . . . MESSY! Thaddeus! Fetch . . . the broom! Those two are . . . going to leave . . . a _lot_ . . . to CLEAN UP!"

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	5. AU: Pirate Seb 2

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><p>As it happened, when he found her a day later in front of the bar at the Hanged Man, Isabela proved to be a forgiving mood. Sebastian suspected it had something to do with her amusement at the sight of his blackened eye, and also with the fact that there was already one empty tankard in front of her and another one in her hand which looked as if it was not much longer for this sinful world. She smiled and waved him over, signalling Corff to hand him a beer.<p>

Sebastian took the drink gratefully and perched himself on the stool next to her. "Dearest Isabela," he said smoothly. "How have you been? I've missed you desperately."

Isabela laughed. "Somebody else didn't miss you though, did they," she said, motioning to his black eye.

He let out a dramatically mournful sigh. "Alas, an incomparable beauty rejected me."

His company snorted. "Sebastian, remember the time you asked me to warn you when you were laying it on too thick?"

"Yes, my dearest?"

"You're laying it on too thick."

"Duly noted," Sebastian said, straightening up and wiping the mournful expression from his face. "You seem to be in a buoyant mood," he said carefully. "Is it possible that you really have forgiven me my dreadful transgressions against you?"

A thoughtful expression appeared on Isabela's face. "I was thinking about it. It depends."

"Oh? On what?"

"A friend of mine needs a little help with a little . . . profitable venture. You might be just what she needs."

"I'm always interested in profit," Sebastian agreed. "Tell me more?"

Isabela nodded. "Yes I think so. But not now. Later tonight."

"Here, I assume?"

"Of course. Where else in Kirkwall can you get a decent drink?"

"The Blooming Rose?" he suggested. "Any other tavern in Kirkwall? The drinks here taste like rat droppings."

"And yet, you're still drinking that beer."

He shrugged. "My need for alcohol is temporarily over-riding my common sense. Oh, before I forget, there was something I wanted to ask you."

"Yes," Isabela nodded. "Your first mate Rob mentioned that. Just be here later, you'll get the answer to your question then."

"You know her then?"

"Oh yes," Isabela laughed. "I know her. You really were an idiot, trying it on with her. You're lucky she didn't break your jaw." She raised her tankard. "Till later then. Cheers."

Isabela was even better than her word. When Sebastian entered the Hanged Man again later that evening, he found that she hadn't just come up with the mystery woman's name, she'd brought the genuine article herself.

Said woman did _not _look happy to see him again. "Oh no," she said flatly. "No way, Isabela. You've got to be kidding me. Not this idiot."

"Dear lady," he said, taking her hand again, "I hope you'll forgive my boorish behaviour when we last met. I was more intoxicated than I realised. Otherwise I would never have subjected a treasure like yourself to such rudeness."

The woman pulled her hand out of his grasp for the second time. "_Isabela_," she growled at the smiling pirate. "You can't be serious. Him?"

"Don't mind him, Hawke," Isabela said, taking a sip from her tankard of ale. "That's just the way he talks to women. There's more to him than silly manners. He'll get over it in a minute. Well, get over it a bit anyway."

The woman, Hawke, stared at him as though he were something foul she'd found on the bottom of her boots. He smiled winningly. The repulsed look did not waver.

"What is with raiders these days?" she asked Isabela while Sebastian turned to the bar in search of a drink. "You're doing the whole 'Pirate Queen' thing and Mr Manners here would fit right in at Hightown if he buttoned up his coat and got rid of that ridiculous hat. What happened to plain, sensible clothes that are suitable for wearing on ship as well as land and don't scream 'I'm a pirate, arrest me'."

Isabela shrugged. "We both docked at Denerim during the Blight. You know what it was like: Heroic Grey Wardens, evil darkspawn, secret heir to the throne claiming his birth-right."

"And . . ." Hawke said flatly, waiting for the punch-line

"It was dramatic stuff!" Isabela said defensively. "It gets to you. Before you know it, you've dropped your armour and found the fanciest outfit you can steal. It's the romance!"

Hawke's eyes flicked from Isabela to Sebastian. "Romance . . ."

"Ah, she means the romance of a well told story," Sebastian said quickly, sensing disdain rising. "The original meaning of the word didn't simply focus on love-stories. It applied to heroic tales and all of their elements, not just the obligatory love-interest sub-plot."

Hawke blinked. "Oh.

"You know," Isabela said, "when you start lecturing like that you sound almost educated." She drained her drink. "Hawke's right. You could pass for a Hightown noble."

Sebastian shot her his most charming grin with practised ease. "Perish the very thought, Isabela. You are the only nobility in the room, my dear Pirate Queen."

"And don't you forget it," she laughed. "You see Hawke? It's infectious."

"It gets you killed," Hawke said flatly. "It puts people besides yourself in danger. Showing off is dangerous."

"But fun!" Isabela declared happily. "Besides," she said more seriously. "I'm good enough to get away with it"

"Ahem," Sebastian said pointedly.

"_We're _good enough, that is," Isabela corrected herself.

"That we are," Sebastian agreed. "And what, pray tell, is wrong with my hat?"

Hawke snorted. "Do I have to repeat my thoughts on clothing that screams 'Pirate'?" She turned to her friend. "Isabela, you said you could find me discreet help. Emphasis on discreet."

"Don't worry," Isabela assured her. "Contrary to all appearances, this arse can be very sneaky."

"You want me to trust someone who you just described as an arse?"

"A very good arse. You can trust him."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Didn't he cut you out of a deal?"

"Yes but I've forgiven him. Besides, unlike a lot of other raiders he didn't try it literally."

"Well, I am a gentleman," Sebastian murmured, sipping his beer. "And it would be a shame to deprive the world of such beauty."

Crystal blue eyes focused on him. "Less bullshit, sunshine."

"As you wish."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Isabela, is he really my best option? He betrayed you, ran off with your lover and tried to steal your ship."

"Not in that order," Sebastian interjected politely.

"That's all true," Isabela admitted. "But unlike Hayder or Castillon, I can trust that while he might hang me out to dry, he won't leave a partner for dead. Kind of like you in that respect. Anyway, he failed to steal my ship and to be honest, I needed a break from Zevran."

Sebastian smiled. "You see, Lady Hawke? I'm really just a helper."

Hawke gave him a look which suggested that she didn't believe this for a second. His respect for her went up a notch.

Isabela glanced from one to the other. "Hawke," she said patiently, "he really is the best choice. The rest of us just don't fit into Hightown society. I don't have the right bearing. Varric's a dwarf, Fenris and Merril are elves and both odd for elves at that. Bethany might pass, but it would look odd if you arrived with your sister, and Anders is-

"afflicted with occasionally questionable sanity." Hawke said, finishing the sentence for her. "While Aveline is just out of the question for this job. Oh all right."

"Wait," Sebastian said, holding up a hand, "This enterprise of yours is taking place in Hightown? My apologies ladies, but I don't think I can help."

"Scared of the nobles?" Hawke asked, apparently surprised.

"Wary of being recognised by some of the denizens of Hightown," Sebastian corrected her. _But not for any reason you could think of, I'm sure, _he added in the privacy of his own head.

"Oh don't worry about that," Isabela said. "Give me a little time with dye and make-up and I'll have it so that your own mother wouldn't recognise you."

"No," Sebastian said firmly. "I'm sorry ladies, but no. Absolutely not."

To his surprise, Hawke nodded understandingly. "Well, I can't blame you for not wanting the attention of the guards," she said.

"But-"

"Don't worry Isabela," Hawke said, cutting off the other woman's protests. "We'll find someone else to help us steal the statue. We can't help it if a hundred and fifty sovereigns isn't worth the risk to the good Captain."

There was a clatter as Sebastian's tankard slipped from his grasp. "A- a hundred and fifty sovereigns?" he said in a strangled voice.

Hawke smiled impishly. "Oh yes. Why? Are you reconsidering?"

_"A hundred and fifty sovereigns!"_

"Ooh. I think you broke him Hawke."

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	6. Make a move

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><p>Malcolm watched her glide effortlessly around the dancefloor, her beauty and grace captivating him so much that he almost let his disguise slip.<p>

_This is insane_, the voice of common sense told him. _What were you thinking coming here?_

Her parents were wealthy. She was a noble, the daughter of one of the oldest and most respected families in the entire city. She had anything and everything any girl could want.

She was going to marry the Comte De Launcet. He was kind, generous and not bad looking. She would be lady of leisure for the rest of her life, comfortable and safe. The biggest worry she'd ever have would be choosing what dress to wear to the Viscount's annual ball.

She'd be mad to even consider running away with a penniless apostate.

Still, he had to try. If he was ever going to make a move, it had to be now.

So he intercepted her next dance partner and led them carefully to the outside balcony where they wouldn't be noticed. He opened his mouth to convince her-

-and the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't do this. He couldn't ask her to give up everything just for him. He wasn't worth it. He-

"Honestly Malcolm, are you going to stand there all night with your mouth open or are we going to get a move on?"

"Yes dear."

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	7. Expecting

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><p>Hawke stared at the dwarf who had just decapitated the hurlock in front of her with nothing more than a short sword.<p>

"So . . . you'll be the hero of Ferelden, then? I'm Hawke."

The dwarf turned, apparently only just realising that she had company, and looked Hawke up and down.

"Huh," she grunted. "That I would be. Alee Brosca's the name. You're Hawke? I guess that makes you the Champion of Kirkwall."

"That's me," Hawke preened a little, in spite of himself, stretching his shoulders and standing to his full, rather imposing height.

The dwarf grunted again, unimpressed.

"I was expecting someone taller."

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	8. If at first you don't succeed

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><p>"So?" Anders asked. "What's the problem?"<p>

Hawke shifted awkwardly on the discarded crate that functioned as a seat in the mage's clinic.

"I . . . I keep having these dreams," she said in a rush.

"Dreams."

"Really weird ones!" Hawke exclaimed, aware that Anders was giving her a sceptical look. "I'm serious, Anders! Something is wrong with my brain. I don't think you fixed my last head wound all the way."

"Okay," Anders said, deciding to go with his Healer-Talking-Down-The-Frightened-Patient tone. "Why don't you tell me about them?"

"Well," Hawke began hesitantly, "you know I'm planning to go on an expedition to the deep roads."

"Yes. You said yesterday that you had nearly enough coin."

"Mm," Hawke agreed. "Well, in my dreams, I'm already down there. Sometimes, Carver's with me, sometimes he's not, Varric is always there, you are too, and Fenris seems to be there when Carver isn't."

"I see," said Anders carefully. So he was _always_ with her and Fenris wasn't? How interesting. Not that he wanted to go anywhere near the deep roads again of course, but . .

"Anyway," Hawke contined, we come across this kind of shallow pit thing and go down into it to collect loot. And then this flaming _enormous_ spider comes out of _nowhere._ And then it kills us and everything goes black."

"That's certainly gruesome," Anders admitted, "but not really all that surprising, Hawke. The deep roads are very dangerous, even for a mage as powerful as you. I'm not surprised you're having a few bad dreams."

"But it feels so _real,_ Hawke protested. "And just before everything goes black, I keep hearing this voice."

Anders' eyes widened. "A voice? Wait, Hawke, what is it saying? Does it offer you power? Or say it can keep you from getting hurt in exchange for something?"

"That's just it," Hawke said. "I've faced demons in the fade before and ignored their offers and so forth . . ."

Anders nodded encouragingly. "Of course you have, you're a strong person Hawke."

Hawke blushed. "Thanks Anders. Anyway, this voice _doesn't_ offer things. It's like it doesn't even know I'm there. It's a young woman's voice, you see, and at the end of every dream, just before everything goes black, I can hear her say . . ." Hawke trailed off, not quite sure how to put it.

"What?"

Hawke inhaled deeply and reminded herself that she was a rational person and in no way insane. Then she announced:: "she says _What is it with Bioware and bloody giant spiders! Bloody deep roads! I hated them in origins and I hate them now! Bloody Bioware! I feckin' hate this feckin' game!_"

Anders blinked.

"Well. That's certainly unusual. What is a 'Bioware' exactly?"

"I don't know," Hawke groaned. "But the voice always sounds out of her mind with frustration. It must be something terrible!"

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	9. No right answer

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><p>"Alistair, dearest, does my this gown make my backside look fat?"<p>

He looks up from the report on the cost of repairs to Denerim following the archdemon attack. She raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently for an answer, an innocent look on her face.

He snorts good-humouredly. "You're not seriously expecting me to give an opinion, are you? There's no right answer to that sort of question."

The eyebrow arches further and she crosses her arms.

"Uh, did I mention that you look spectacular? And that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?"

Her arms do not uncross.

"How about the fact that I'm madly in love with you? And therefore the luckiest man on Thedas? Darling?"

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	10. It's a talent

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><p>Hawke stared at her friend, her mouth open in amused amazement. "Do it again!" she begged as the rest of the party joined them at the table with their drinks.<p>

Sebastian sighed. "Hawke, really-"

"Pleeease!"

"Oh all right," he surrendered. "But this is the last time."

"The last time for what?" Varric enquired. "Is Choir Boy finally going to be interesting?"

"Sssh," Hawke hushed the dwarf. "Listen."

They listened.

Their jaws dropped.

"Uncanny," Aveline said at last. "That is the best impression of Seneschal Bran I've ever heard."

Sebastian shrugged modestly, pleased despite himself. "It's a talent."

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	11. Pie

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><p>"So," Varric said, "Blondie nearly kills a girl, is currently half-crazy with guilt over it, and your solution to cheer him up is . . . pie?"<p>

"Not just pie. Blueberry pie," Hawke corrected him, shifting the sweet-smelling package to her other side so that her sword arm was free. One couldn't be too careful in Darktown.

"Right. I'm sure that'll make all the difference."

Hawke pouted. "Shows what you know Serah Tethras. Pie makes everything better."

"Really. Everything?"

"Everything," Hawke said firmly. "Is it not written _And Andraste did praise the Maker because when she was hungering for sustenance her ally Shartan did gift her with the Imperium's sweetest pie?_"

There was silence for a long moment.

Then Varric shrugged. "Well, at least Blondie will have a decent meal for once, I guess. He's been looking a little thin lately."

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	12. Fight of the Century

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><p>"-and then Hawke walked right up to the Arishok and demanded he face her in single combat! They squared off, readied their weapons and everyone in the throne room got a ringside seat at the fight of the century!"<p>

"Really," Seeker Pentaghast said flatly.

"What, you don't believe me?"

"I had consulted other sources before coming to you, dwarf."

"Ah."

"So it's true, then?"

"Fine, fine," Varric grumbled. "Yes. It's true. Old horned 'n humourless refused to fight her and the four of us had to dodge around the throne room fighting the Arishok and his guards at the same time. Hawke did take out a lot of them, but the Arishok himself was killed when Choir Boy got in a lucky shot. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Cassandra said dryly. " Now continue. Truthfully, if you please."

"Whatever," Varric muttered. "Personally I prefer my version. So did Choir Boy, oddly enough."

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	13. In Memoriam

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><p>"What. . . what is this <em>travesty?<em>" Garret Hawke sputterd.

"Hawke, calm down," said Aveline. "It's not that bad."

"Uh, yes, yes it _is_. I am the Champion, right?"

The guard-captain let out a sigh. "Yes."

"I dual-wield knives, yes?"

Another sigh. "Yes."

"I wear _light leather armour_, yes?" Hawke's voice was now dangerously quiet.

Aveline rubbed at her temples. She could feel a headache coming on. It was going to be a bad one, she could tell. "Yes, Hawke. Yes, you do."

"So tell me: if this is a tribute in memory of my defeat of the qunari and subsequent saving of the city . . ."

"Yes. . ."

" . . . then what the _hell_ is up with the longsword-wielding, heavy-armour-wearing statue over there. _I_ killed the Arishok. Not some poser in plate-armour! This is a Templar plot, isn't it?"

Aveline heaved a final sigh. "Well, now I know you've been spending far too much time with Anders."

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	14. Dust and Echoes

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><p>After the dwarf is gone, she walks through the empty estate, searching for something, anything, that she might have missed. Some clue to the Champion's whereabouts.<p>

Picking her way carefully through the house, Cassandra encounters things she had dismissed as irrelevant the first time. Now, Tethras' story still ringing in her ears, she starts to wonder if they have significance after all.

There is a dalish ring circling a thin tree branch in the overgrown garden. It is impossible to pull off, having somehow grown into the unusually healthy wood.

The bannister of the stairs has a blue headscarf tied around it, hiding a dirty limerick carved into the stonework. Upstairs on the landing, a mage's staff with a circular design leans against the corner of the wall. Next to it, an old but well-kept bow with the crest of Starkhaven worked into the shaft.

The complete 'People's Laws of Kirkwall' lies on a side table. It looks like it's never been touched. A well read copy of The Book of Shartan lies open beside it. There are a lot of wine stains on the pages.

There are scorch marks on the walls of a room that looks like it was used for storage. Buried under a pile of torn trousers and bits of frayed rope, she finds a beautifully made rune of fire. Smashed pieces of an amulet with the sigil of the Tevinter Chantry surround it.

She finds another ring in the master bedroom. It is in a small black box, hidden under piles of old papers and clothers in the bottom of a wardrobe. The ring is delicate, silver, with an unusual design worked into the metal, of two hands holding a crowned heart between them.

Cassandra turns it over in her hand and catches sight of lettering carved into the inside.

_To Marian_ it says. _In the Maker's sight, I swear all my love is yours, now and forever._

But there is still nothing to indicate where Hawke is now. Whatever else the dwarf might have lied about, he told the truth about this. The Champion is gone from this place, is somewhere out there alone, bereft of all her companions. There is nothing here but dust and echoes of happier times.

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	15. Revenge

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><p>The battle was ended. The murdering apostate and the woman he'd once thought he loved both dead. Part of him deeply regretted that she'd had to die too. But it had been inevitable. She'd been determined to protect the life of the monster and he'd had no other way to see justice done.<p>

A cry from the little cottage he'd found them in front of attracted his attention and he went to investigate, pushing the door open carefully, wary of traps.

A small blond toddler sitting in a puddle of spilled milk looked up at him.

"Mama?" the child said, tilting her head and peering behind him hopefully. "Mama? Mama?"

"Oh Maker's mercy," the prince whispered, frozen in horror. "What have I _done?_"

The child began to cry softly, still whimpering for her mother. "Where Mama?" she begged. "Where Mama?"

Her crying pulled him out of his shock, a little at least. He strode over to the child and gathered her up in his arms. She pounded against his armour, her little hands curled into fists. "My Mama," she demanded. "Le' go. I want _Mama!_"

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath as the sick weight of guilt settled in his stomach. Then he looked into the child's honey-brown eyes, so like those of the man he'd despised. "It will be all right little one," he whispered to her. "Mama is with the Maker. I'll look after you now. I'll make everything all right for you. I promise."

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	16. Where are we?

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><p>Hawke shook her head slowly to clear it and then looked around, blinking in the sudden sunlight.<p>

"Ookay," she announced to her similarly stunned companions, "this is clearly not the Black Emporium. Where are we?"

"No idea," Anders shrugged. "But there are some people coming this way, look. Maybe we could ask them."

Hawke glared at the mage to indicate that while she agreed with his suggestion she was still angry at him for breaking the 'Touch Nothing, And I Want To Be Absolutely Clear About This, I Mean _Nothing_ In The Black Emporium' rule.

Then she turned to look in the direction he'd pointed and caught sight of the party of people walking towards them. "Ah, hello?" she called, clearing her throat. "Sorry to bother you, but we're a bit lost. I don't suppose you could help us out?"

One of the strangers, a huge man with an odd purple marking on his bald head, grinned happily at them. "Fear not friends! Minsc and Boo and all our friends will be happy to assist!" Turning to the party leader, a small woman armed with a pair of daggers, he added "Is that not so, my friend?"

The leader of the party of strangers let out a fond, but long-suffering sigh. "Yes Minsc. Of course we will."

Hawke beamed. "Awesome. I'm Hawke. Nice to meet you!"

"I'm sure," the other woman muttered. "Anyway, I'm Charname, Ward of Gorion. How may we help you?"

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	17. Lead Us Not Into Temptation

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><p>Hawke . . ."<p>

"Yes Varric?"

"Is there a particular reason that every time you bring Choir Boy along, you find a reason that we absolutely _must_ go to the Blooming Rose? Or do you just like watching him blush?"

"Why Varric," she replied in shocked tone, "I have no idea what you mean!"

"Uh huh . . ."

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	18. Fever

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><p>The sickness comes during the height of summer. It starts in Darktown, working its way through the hot cramped tunnels and corridors that make up the streets of the Undercity.<p>

Within hours the only free clinic in the city is stretched to capacity and the mage running it is so exhausted that he's burning through reserves of power meant to protect himself from his patient's ailments. It's not long before he collapses.

A week later there are reports of cases in Lowtown and a quarantine is quickly declared. Guards patrol the streets, cloths soaked in apothecary potions over the bottom of their faces for protection. The Hanged Man becomes a temporary hospital, filled with the ill and dying.

Even the Qunari feel the sickness's effect. The Arishok sits on his makeshift throne, trying to hold back the coughs that rack his body. He hides the fact that he doesn't have the strength to rise from his seat.

Despite best efforts the sickness reaches Hightown within days of the quarantine. It races through the district, infecting master and servant alike. The whole city echoes with the coughing of the diseased and dying. In the Chantry, the heir to the throne of Starkhaven falls ill while attending to the Brothers and Sisters who are already sick.

Pyres of the dead soon burn in the streets, and the guards are required to deal with looters in Lowtown, even as they and their captain grow wearier each day.

The Viscount sends word to the Gallows again. Healer mages are requested to help find a cure.

The Knight-Commander's reply is the same as it was when the sickness began. She cannot risk losing her men to the disease, not when rebel mages may use the chaos to try and escape. To ensure the safety of the citizens of Kirkwall every templar is needed at the Gallows, and mages cannot be trusted to go to the city alone.

A summons is sent, ordering the presence of the Knight-Commander herself in the Viscounts Keep.

The summons is ignored. When messengers cross the harbour to the Gallows their boats are prevented from docking. A Templar on the dock shouts that as the Circle of Magi is the only place free of disease, the first concern of the Knight Commander is to keep the mages safe. No healers can be spared to go to the city. It is too much of a risk.

By the time a way is found to get around Meredith's blockade on the Gallows dock, half of Kirkwall is dead and the Arishok sits in his compound alone.

The Knight Commander does not recognised the tear-streaked face of the warrior who kicks in her door.

She demands to know the woman's name and berates her for exposing the Gallows to the plague and putting the last defenders of the city in danger.

The warrior laughs bitterly. "You don't get it, do you? There is no city left to defend. While you sat here, denying people healers because of your paranoia over what the mages might do if you personally weren't watching them every second, the city died!"

Meredith gapes at her. "What-"

The warrior cuts her off. "The Viscount is dead. The Grand Cleric is dead. The Arishok is on his way out, if he isn't dead already. _Everyone_ is dead or dying. My family, my friends, _everyone_ I loved. While. You. Sat. Here!"

The Knight Commander reels in shock.

By the time she recovers from the news, a sword has found its way into her chest.

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	19. Recognise

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><p>It doesn't knock the breath out of him like it did the first time, but he's still struck by it every time he sees her. Even though her hair is a little too dark and her eyes a little too pale the resemblance is still there.<p>

There is resemblance too, in how she speaks, how she acts. How she moves with that air of indefinable nobility and gives off the certainty that she will always make the honorable choice.

"Hawke!" he greets her cheerfully. "The new scion of House Amell. Congratulations."

She smiles happily at him and for a second he is back in Ferelden, holding open the door for a grateful mage apprentice who left to become a warden and ended up as the Hero of Ferelden.

He wonders if Hawke will follow in her cousins footsteps in that respect as well.

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	20. Look at Me

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><p>Morgan gazed out of the window, unable to look at the disgrace to his family that was standing on the other side of the study desk and kicking at the floor.<p>

"Have ye anything to say for yourself this time?" he asked, resolutely staring out at the farmland in the distance. "Any explanation for how ye ended up half-naked in a tavern with the tar beaten out of ye?"

There was no answer.

"No? No thoughts as to why the Guard Captain delivered you back this morning with a list of complaints as long as the Minanter? Or why Lord Faxley's petitioning to see me so he can complain about someone insulting his daughter's honour?"

There was silence again and Morgan finally turned to face his son. "Well?" he demanded. "D'ye have _nothing_ to say for yourself? D'ye no care that ye've shamed our family, that your mother is fit to be tied?"

The boy grinned, unrepentant, although there was a suspect redness around his eyes. "Are you sure that's everything, Father? Nothing else you'd like to scold me for?"

Morgan's breath hissed between his teeth and he clenched his hands into fists, trying to remain calm. "Get out," he snapped finally, knowing that further talking would be pointless. "And try to behave as if you've some sense between your ears," he added angrily as the boy bowed mockingly and then ran for the door.

Later, when the sun had gone down and he'd joined his father for a last drink before retiring he confessed, "Maker's Breath Da, but he's near impossible all of the time now. I don't know what to do with that boy."

The older man sighed. "Morgan, you could try looking at him first once in a while instead of his brothers. Tha's all the boy wants."

"Aye," Morgan nodded slowly. "You've a point, I suppose. Pity ye didn't say that to me a few years ago. T'is too late now."

"Oh Morgan . . ." his father said disappointedly. "You didn't."

"I had to," he defended himself. "He has me sick with worry and ashamed of his behaviour and his mother canna bear to admit he's her son. I canna let him go on like this for the rest of his life."

"Ye'll be lucky if he ever speaks to you again," his father warned him.

"I know," Morgan admitted quietly. "But all the arrangements are made. Sebastian will leave for Kirkwall Chantry next week."

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	21. Duck and Cover

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><p>"Blondie, get down!" Varric yells at the newest member of their group as soon as he catches sight of Hawke gripping her staff in a very particular way.<p>

Anders shoots him an_ are you crazy?_ look. "But . . . the spiders!"

"Trust me!" Varric yells back. "If you value your life, duck and cover!"

Thankfully, the warden mage takes his advice, ducking behind a convenient boulder just in time. Seconds later, Hawke cackles maniacally and fire rains haphazardly from the sky.

"Oh. Firestorm," Anders says dazedly when the explosions stop. "Haven't met a battle mage powerful enough to do that since I left the Wardens. The Warden-Commander used to use that on spiders too. And darkspawn. And bandits. And High Dragons."

"Huh," Varric nods. "You know, according to Hawke's mother, the Hero of Ferelden is related to them."

"Why I am not surprised?"

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	22. Best Friend

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><p>When the armoured man walks through the open doorway after her husband, Leandra doesn't stop to think. At a glance she sees the flaming sword embossed on his chestplate and as horror chills her spine she grabs the nearest thing she can - a heavy cast iron cooking pot- and swings it at the Templar's unprotected head.<p>

He immediately collapses in a heap.

Malcolm stares at her, mouth open in surprise and shock. Then he recovers himself and drops to a crouch, healing magic glowing around his hands.

"Malcolm? What are you doing?" she demands.

"Um, dearest, this is Ser Maurever Carver. He's my best friend."

"Oh. Oops."

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	23. Triangle

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><p>Anders is dangerous, sad eyed and just begging for someone to hug him and say that everything will be okay.<p>

Fenris is dangerous too, but also controlled. His eyes promise scorn and contempt for any who would dare to pity him.

Sebastian is chaste, safe, openly warm and gentle. His eyes gleam with a boy's excitement for adventure.

All three make her sigh wistfully. All three hold a place in her heart. All three do not deserve to be led on just because she cannot make up her mind.

"It's like a, you know, triangle," she slurs one evening, deep into her cups at the Hanged Man. "But with four sides."

Isabela sighs and shakes her head. "Hawke, that's a square."

"Don't be silly. No one's ever heard of a love square."

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	24. Night on the Town

Aveline surveyed the wreckage in front of her.

The door of the Hanged Man had been smashed in two. Several patrons lay in the street, unconscious or groaning quietly. The remains of a cart were sprawled across a nearby set of steps, one wheel still rolling forlornly away. Somewhere nearby, something indeterminate was on fire.

"Right," she said sternly to Hawke, who was standing next to her, a sheepishly guilty look on his face. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I only meant to have one drink and then go home. Honest!"


	25. Diversity in Thedas

"So, let's see," the Warden said beginning to count on his fingers, "so far we have four humans consisting of one apostate, one Circle mage, one former templar and one bard, one elf - formerly an Crow assassin, two dwarves - one castless, one drunk, one qunari - minus his sword, and one golem - sarcastic. Have I got that straight?"

"Pretty much," Alistair confirmed.

"And we're going to stop the blight, slay the archdemon and slaughter hordes of darkspawn. All nine of us."

"That's the idea."

The warden sighed. "Well, at least we'll be the most diverse pile of corpses ever."


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